The Floral Series: Flowers in November
by TheCountessAndTheEnglishLord
Summary: Cora Levinson was rescued by Chester Lawrence Beaumont from a speeding motor, and they have never looked back. First as close friends, and eventually as lovers, though divided by class and age, they make the time they spend together precious, for fate will tear them apart with her departure to England four years after their initial meeting. Multi-chapter. Rating may vary.
1. Prologue

_Do you remember the first time we met?_

_I shall never forget it. A strong-hearted, fiery beauty stepping out onto the sidewalk. The rain lashing down, too quick for the clumsy fingered Levinson's. Your gloved fingers slipped on the hook of the umbrella, and you stepped too soon from the pavement, a carriage nearly skimming your toes._

_Then I took your elbow gently, pulling you away from the intimidating traffic. That is when you caught my eye, smiled that delicious_ _smile_,_ and thanked me profusely. I was a man enraptured._

_I took you into the cafe, and I read you Keats whilst you poured hot, sweet tea that soothed our throats that ached from our passionate conversation._

'_Come hither all sweet maidens soberly –'_

'_Why soberly?'_

'_Perhaps their vision has been impaired by their inebriation and he wishes them to come to him without colliding with any unsuspecting furniture.'_

'_You are silly.'_

_I smiled and you poured another cup of tea, which I took gratefully, adding a dash of whisky, away from the curious shopkeeper's eyes. You poured yourself one, sipping it delicately._

'_Anyway, what brings such a fair young maiden as yourself to Cincinnati?'_

'_I live here.'_

'_Oh! I did not have you pinned down for a flighty, American heiress, waiting to pounce on some unforgiving Englishman whose pocket book is by no means full.'_

'_I take it you are an Englishman then.'_

'_I am indeed. An Eton prig to boot.'_

'_Oh!'_

_I shared a look with you, a smile spreading over my lips. 'I'm twenty four.'_

_You flopped back against the chair, amazed and vaguely horrified at the impossibilities of the situation, and its extreme consequences. What would your mother say when she found out?_

'_I went to Eton at the age of twelve and I left when I was nineteen. I then departed to America, the country of the beautiful maidens – 'you blushed at this '- and I made my fortune on the stock market.'_

'_You sound very illustrious and gypsy bred.'_

'_I am indeed. 'They refused to allow me into England with the name Chester!'_

'_You're joking.'_

'_No not at all. I tipped off the guard at the port, and told him my name was Lawrence Bathurst, because I thought it sounded posh and snooty – everything I'm not.'_

'_Gosh!' You sat back again, winded by the excitement of sitting opposite a twenty four year old man who was so happy in your company. _

_And I was. Oh, Cora, I was. _


	2. Author's Note

**Author's Note **

_This was initially going to be parallel to a story called So Scarlet Is The Rose, but as that idea was weak and lacking development, I deleted it. However, I desperately want to narrate the relationship between Cora Levinson and Chester Lawrence Beaumont, because I feel I want to iterate the truth about him. _

_In this multi-chapter fan fiction, I have made Cora's birth be in 1870. I know this is incorrect, but I feel that this gives me more fluidity with what she does with Chester. Bear in mind the age gap – Chester is twenty four and she is sixteen when they first meet (in the prologue), and when she leaves for England she is twenty and he is twenty eight. They are 'together' for four years, initially meeting in 1886. This means that they are able to be friends for a long time before they begin to feel anything else for one another. He is like a father-figure to her, and that may sound strange, but as you read on, you will see what I mean. In this series, by the way, Harold was born in 1876, making him six years younger than Cora, but he is very mature for his age._

_I'm sorry if I have confused you, but as much as I hate boring my readers with facts, I like it to be as realistic as possible, so I have thought this over, and I want you to be able to read this without thinking: 'Wait a minute, wait a minute...what?!' Refer to this if you become puzzled with a fact, and feel free to PM me if you think I have missed something important.  
_

_I hope this clears up any confusion, but to make it straightforward, I'll write both Cora's and Chester ages at the beginning of each piece, as well as anyone else I think is important to note. The length of each piece may vary due to the content, but what is important to note is that these scenes are __**not**__ in chronological order._

_That said, enjoy!_

_ T.C.A.T.E.L. xx_


	3. A Daisy Plucked

**A Daisy Plucked**

Rating:  K+

* * *

**August, 1888** (_Cora is eighteen, Harold is twelve, and Chester is twenty six_)

"Cora?" She rushes to the door leading onto the balcony overlooking the main stairwell and corridor below and flings it back, scurrying to the edge and peering over. A pair of green eyes meets hers, and he tilts his hat in greeting, kind and easy, exuding affection. "Chester!"

She rushes down the spiral staircase, her feet almost gliding in her excitement to reach the bottom. Halfway down she attains that strange feeling not unlike vertigo, whereupon stairs no longer feel like stairs and establish themselves as obstacles that may trip a delicate ankle such as her own at any time. Indeed, her brother's ankle is anything but delicate, given his situation beside her heart's desire before her. She strains her ears to listen as she stops, risking a delay to their planned picnic.

"How are you, my dear chap?"

"Don't be so English, Chester. I'm perfectly well."

"How is she?"

"Perfectly well. You do know she is by no means a poor girl."

There is an awkward pause in which Cora recognises the noise Chester makes at the back of his throat demonstrating his discomfort at the topic arisen; in particular due to the difference in age between the two men.

"I do not enquire as to your sister's monetary situation. I enquire about her health, and I enquire about her unrelenting, quite undeserving affection to me."

Harold chuckles. "I didn't mean you need to enquire, my dear fellow, I merely mean to address the fact you are by no means a rich man."

There is a deadly silence. Monetary issues are difficult to discuss with Chester, as he is so vulnerable and protective over his lower middle class background. Cora has met his parents, and though they are lovely, warm, charming people, they only had water for her to have a cup of tea the first time she visited his place and his cheeks burned with shame. She wants to slap Harold for being so insensitive.

"How dare you. My advances towards your sister have never been in pursuit of that."

Cora can almost audibly hear her younger brother's raised eyebrow. "Really."

"Yes! I love your sister with a passion. I love her more than anything in the world. I would die for her."

"You're twenty six and she is eighteen. I dare say that can hardly make for an easy relationship."

"That is absolutely _none_ of your business."

"I think my sister's affairs are a concern of mine."

"Oh, I'm an affair now, am I?"

Cora takes this moment to appear, sweeping her coat dramatically on and grabbing her clutch from the steps beside her. "I'm so sorry, darling, I had to rush back to get something."

"That's quite alright, sweetheart. I'm ready." The two young men exchange a daggers drawn glance, but she smiles sweetly at Harold and taking her _amour_'s arm, she leads him out the front door. They walk to the car in silence, both meaning to speak first. As they reach the black shine that is parked at a slight angle, they both stop and speak at the same time.

"I'm so sorry -"  
"I do apologise -"

They stop; exchange a glance then both burst out laughing. As she watches his emerald eyes glint in the sunlight, she remembers the first time they met; light-headedness overwhelming her, and she falls into his surprised arms, clutching him close. He is a little taken aback but chuckles, stroking her hair.

"Seriously Chester, I'm so sorry, I didn't expect him to be like that. He's far too protective of me. I wish he wouldn't be, though, I _can_ take care of myself."

"It's quite alri – wait...did you listen?"

"I..." She trails off, trying to find an excuse. "I'm so sorry," she eventually settles on, hating herself for being so tiresomely repetitive. "It's just..."

"No, don't worry. I'm quite glad you did because it clears something up for me."

She stares at him. "Whatever do you mean?"

"I love you, Cora Levinson. It may not be gentlemanly to say so, but I'm not a gentleman and I don't pretend to be. I do. With all my heart. We've been such good friends these past two years, yet I've been constantly afraid that my age and rank have kept you holding me at arm's length. I've been so worried that I'm not good enough for you, but the truth is: you are everything to me. It's not just your iridescent beauty. It's your voice. It's your panache. It's your articulate and observative nature that seems to make even the simplest of ornaments or paintings come to life. It's your comfortable presence. It's your passion, your confidence, your friendliness, your open-heart, your vigour. I even love you for your worst side – "

She laughs, cheeks flaming.

"It's true! I love your fierce nature, your stubbornness, I love it when you act all posh and uppity, I love it! I love it when you go all moody and sulky and pout like you've sucked a lemon. I love it when you're you. I love you. I love you."

But she can't respond. All Cora can do is stare and stare at this wonderful man, who loves her for who she is – all of her.

"Chester, I..."

"No, don't try to wipe it away. It's said – I love you. I don't expect anything of you. If you don't love me – that's fine! I honestly won't mind. Okay, I'll be a little sad, but we won't need to sacrifice our friendship for it!"

"I love you."

It's his turn to stare.

"I've loved you since the first moment you pulled me back from that car. I loved you when you were sad; I loved you when you were just you. And no-one could love anyone more than I love you now."

His face breaks and tears fill his eyes. "Oh, Cora." He takes her hands and pulls them towards him, so she is standing beneath his chin. "Can – can I – kiss – you?"

She locks his gaze and she knows then she wants nothing more than for him to kiss her now and never let her go.

"Chester. You have never been one for asking permission. Just do it."

And so he obliges, passionately and breath-takingly, all the more fervent for the long wait.

* * *

**So, there it is, their first kiss, after two years of being together. I hope you liked it, I loved writing it, as it gave me a fresh start, with a man so different to, yet so much like: Robert. Mr Crawley will appear, but not for a few chapters. Review, favourite, follow, whatever you want. **


	4. Frost on the Geraniums

**Frost on the Geraniums**

Rating: K

* * *

**December, 1886 **(_Chester is twenty four, Cora is sixteen, Harold is ten, Martha is thirty eight, and Isidore is forty two.)_

The hearth in the drawing room has been lit and the presents are laid out in a rectangular shape on the table that is placed in front of the Christmas tree, a recent addition which makes Cora's mother extremely nervous, as she is very protective of the room's furnishings and does not want the added worry of pine needles embedding themselves in her carpet and settees. Nevertheless, Martha is, for once, merry and affable, dancing a little waltz as she sashays into the room to pour a glass of whisky. Cora follows suit shortly after, dressed exquisitely in a rose red dress that skims her ankles and matching three inch strap shoes which are an exciting early present; her first time elevated higher than two centimetres off the ground. The sleeves of her dress end just above her elbow and are rouched, drawing together in a cinched fashion and ruffling out in matching lace. The buttons that do up the front of her dress from her navel to her neck are pearl white and she is wearing a circle of matching beads that hang around her neck like a choker, exposing her delicate collarbones and highlighting her neat, ivory skinned neck. Her gloves are pale pink and her hair falls, for once, in dark ringlets about her shoulders, the front pinned back in a perfect coil and topped with a silver comb to keep it off her face. She glances around and her gaze settles on the tree, her eyes lighting up like a little girl's. There comes a knock on the door and she squeals, hurrying back out. The footman opens the door on Chester, dressed in his best white tie and tails. His hair is her only reminder of the man she knows – unkempt and wild, uncontrollable yet perfect.

"Chester! You came!" She throws herself at him and he hugs her back, chuckling. The footman closes the door, and walks away, biting back an admiring smile. They pull away and laugh, as she takes his hand and shakes it fervently, a picture of decorum.

"Of course I came, you devil, you invited me." He goes to ruffle her head and she bats his hand away, not wanting the neat curls disturbed. He settles on twirling one around his finger, smiling as she tries to come up with a sufficient answer.

"Well...I didn't know if you would want to or not. Because of...all this." She waves a hand encompassingly and he tenses up for a moment, almost tempted to turn around and walk out, taking her with him. But her young, innocent face tells him to stay.

"Well, if such a beautiful young lady asked me, how could I say no?"

She grins mischievously, and grabs his hand leading him into the drawing room where the rest of her family have gathered. They all turn round at their entry and look at him curiously. It is not the first time they have met him, but it surprises them no end to see how well he has brushed up. The truth is that they love him, even Harold, despite his often misplaced remarks about his background. Martha smiles kindly and crosses to greet Chester, hugging him to her and kissing him on both cheeks, making his face burn bright red. They all laugh at this, and he breathes a sigh of relief when both men shake his hand.

"I'm so glad you could make it, my dear fellow. Cora was very insistent you came." Isidore's words make his blush burn brighter, and he squeezes Cora's hand in his.

"I'm so very glad you invited me, I was worried you thought me far too forward the last time we met."

"Not at all, not at all. I'm so happy Cora has someone so kind, smart and protective as you to keep her company. She's quite different now, I can tell you that."

"Papa!" It is her turn to blush.

"Oh?" Chester's eyebrows rise in curiosity.

"She now actually speaks to us with a reasonable degree of sensitivity and care. You should have seen the huffs and puffs of her before. We were lucky if we got a civil word out of her, weren't we, Martha?"

"Indeed, you have changed her dramatically, and I must congratulate you, Mr Beaumont. I did not think a girl with such a lack of care for those around her could become so loving within the course of five months. What did you do?"

"Mama!"

"Please, Mrs Levinson, call me Chester. And in all honesty, I didn't do anything. The company of your daughter has been the greatest I have ever had to pleasure to attain in all my life. She is amusing, highly engaging in her maturity and knowledge, and she never ceases to amaze me with her many brushes with the law and with talk of incurring the wrath of her 'hideously overbearing' family."

Martha and Isidore roar with laughter, Harold looks perplexed and tries to work out the reason his parents have turned into loons, and Cora looks ready to run out the room.

"Chester, can you_ please _stop talking as if I'm not here?" He turns with a smile to her, but he sees the struggle in her eyes. They have only known one another for five months, but within that time, she has been able to share the most intimate of things with him. In truth, it hurts to hear him say the things she spoke to him about in secrecy, especially due to her age. Any other girl of sixteen would love to have a close connection with an older man, platonic or otherwise, and none of them would want the things they shared with him divulged to her parents involuntarily.

"Oh God, I'm so sorry." He turns to her and hugs her again, pulling her close. As they embrace, Martha and Isidore exchange a look that says '_she loves him'._

"Dinner is served, sir."

"Ah!" Isidore gently taps Cora's shoulder and they break apart. "Time to go through."

"Is it just us?" Chester suddenly looks a little anxious, and he glances around, hoping the other guests are hiding behind the potted plants and overfilled oak bookcases, and can step in to save him from his grave humiliation.

"Yes, and a very merry gathering it is too!" Isidore claps a hand on Chester's arm and leads the company through, the young man and woman bringing up the rear.

"Cora, I –"

"You might be eight years my senior but that gives you no right to tell Mama and Papa of the things I share with you!" The words come out softly yet sharply, scaring him. She backs him up against the wall and stares him down. He can't look away.

"Cora – "

"No! Do you realise how _difficult_ life is for me? No, you don't, because like every other adult, you think I'm too young to understand or experience anything of the sort! Do you know how _intimidated_ I feel in this house? No, you don't, because like every other adult, you think I'm spoilt and have never experienced anything like that! I thought you were different. I thought you cared about me, Chester!"

"I do! I do! I'm sorry, it fell out of my mouth, I didn't –"

"I know. You didn't mean to. And that's fine! But you know what? You need to realise – you are the only thing that matters to me. I need you on my side. If you're going to share our conversations with my parents, I can't see how I'm going to hold my own. Please. Just...I'm struggling. Okay?" Suddenly, as if woken from a dream, he looks at her, and he sees a grown woman, not a sixteen year old, a woman who is breaking at the seams. He sees a woman who is struggling to pick up the pieces of a broken home and who is paying the price of the tension that radiates from Mr and Mrs Levinson. He sees a scared little girl, hiding from it all. And he sees the older, mature, beautiful woman she shall grow to be.

"Come here." He pulls her into him and they hug again, but this time the connection is intimate, as if holding out for something more than close friendship. She looks up at him between their embrace, and he smiles, taking her hand in his.

"I'm sorry, Chester. But...can we talk later?" Her eyes are pleading.

"Of _course_ we can." He cannot wait.

Dinner is a gruelling affair, mostly consisting of questions enquired as to how he spends his Christmas, and whether his business is going well. He continuously nods emphatically at the latter and, in terms of the former, he tells them all about life in the Beaumont household; speaking of their marking the end of the Civil War as his father fought in it against the Jews. Isidore freezes at this, and Martha exchanges a quick glance with Cora. Chester is looking at his plate as he says this, and continues to talk, unaware of the sudden frost that has engulfed the table. "Of course, the Jews were disloyal war profiteers, driving the poor Christians out of business and aiding the enemy. Of course, my family are anti-Semitists; we never supported the Jews in going to war."

The silence is almost deafening. Chester finally glances up. Isidore's face is a picture of fury.

"How dare you. How dare you have the nerve to come into _my _house and _insult_ my religion!" His voice thunders around the room, as he slams a hand onto the oak table, making everyone jump in fear.

"Oh, I'm – I'm so sorry – "

"Get out!"

"Papa, please!"

"No! I will not have an anti-Semitist at my table!"

"Please, sir, I didn't mean –"

"It's best if you go. I'm sorry, Chester." Harold has spoken quietly, shocking them all. Cora stands carefully, her plate empty anyway, and places a hand on Chester's arm, speaking gently. "He's right. Come with me, I want to talk to you anyway."

"You're _not _taking him to your room!"

"Papa, as soon as he leaves the room you will regret this nonsensical behaviour. You're so touchy. He's _my_ guest, and he came here at my invitation, and I shall hope he will leave the same way! So, yes, I _am_ taking him to my room." With that, Cora storms out of the door, Chester following closely behind. The door slams behind her. She is right, as seconds later, Isidore sinks back against his seat, disappointed. As much as he is protective of his religion, he has a good friendship with Chester, and he is irked by his strong reaction to Chester's pronouncement.

"Should I go and apologise?"

"No, Isidore. Let your daughter be with him."

"I can't understand what he sees in her. I only see a tiresome, spoilt little minx who has no respect for her elders and betters."

"Then you don't know her at all. He doesn't see anything in her at all, not in the way you think. He is happy to be with her, and to have her much valued friendship; which is more than I can say for you." And she goes back to her duck, which is a little cool now, the food having been interrupted in the excitement.

Outside, in the drawing room, Cora has sunk onto one of the settees and is trying to control the tears that are threatening to fall. "Cora? Are you okay?"

"No," she replies brokenly. Suddenly, the sixteen ear old stands, surprising him. "Come on, let's go to my room."

As she leads him up the long, spiralling staircase, he can't help but feeling that he shouldn't be doing this, she's only sixteen, it's not proper... but then he realises. She sees him in a purely friendly way, and not romantically at all. She is expecting nothing of _that_ sort. She just wants to talk. He follows her as she pushes open the first door they come to that overlooks the stairwell. Inside, the walls are cream, and all the furniture is decorated in the same dark mahogany. Her bed lies beneath the window, swathed in a lilac coverlet, and a chaise longue is perched at the end of the tall windows that open onto a balcony that overlooks the city. A desk and a dressing table lie on the same wall, some considerable distance apart, and the opposite wall is swamped by a wardrobe that stretches from window to door. His eyes pop out on stalks. She flops down on the chaise and pats the space beside her. He carefully seats himself, trying not to panic. Glancing across, he sees that her head has fallen to her hands.

"Cora," he whispers, taking her hand. She looks up. Tears glisten in her lids, and she tries to smile, but it fails and she crumples. "Oh, Chester, I'm so sorry." Her words are small and tentative, as if he may explode at any moment.

"Don't be. Don't be." He hugs her again, leaning his cheek on the top of her head. She doesn't say a thing about her hair.

"They never listen to me. I try to let them know what I think, or what I need, and they shake me off, like it's nothing to them. I can't believe what Papa said to you."

"Your parents love you very much."

"They wouldn't fight for me, though!"

"They wouldn't fight for you because they know that they wouldn't win."

She sinks into silence. Then, glancing up, she says:

"I'm glad you're here, Chester."

* * *

**I hope I got the facts about Judaism right, but if not, then let me know. Otherwise, I hope you enjoyed this! Don't worry, the next one will be happier. :)  
**


	5. Snowdrop on the sill

**Snowdrop on the sill**

Rating: K

**October, 1924** (Cora is fifty four, Robert is fifty eight)

Her eyes drift open, slowly comprehending her situation. Light streams in through the library windows; glancing off the gleaming pendant that glistens at her throat. The air is still and undisturbed, gently lapping at her skin. Cora pushes herself carefully onto her elbows and looks around the room, attempting to recollect remnants of last night. She remembers going into the library last night, after Baxter had left her, retrieving the pendant from the sill where she had abandoned it just days before. The glint of the silver in the moonlight shines through her mind like a light switched on in her head. She tries to pull things together, collecting the strands of her memory that stream out in tendrils. A hand impulsively goes to her neck, and there it is, lying as subtly as the day it was given to her.

_'Here.'_

_'What's this?' She takes the small black box, opening the lid slowly. Inside sits the most beautiful pendant, silver with a long matching chain, round and smooth, with intricate flowers etched into the lid._

_'They're snowdrops.'_

_She looks up at him. 'Oh, Chester. It's so beautiful.'_

_'Happy birthday, my love.'_

_He kisses her, soft and sweet, touching her face with his gloved palm. Her eye drift shut._

"Cora?"

She turns, startled. Robert stands in the doorway, smiling kindly. "Did you enjoy your night time reading?"

"Oh...I fell asleep when I was looking for...looking for...this." She holds it out. He walks to her, taking it carefully in his hand. His eyes fill with sadness and he looks up at her. "Do you miss him?"

"Yes. When I think about him."

"Would you rather be with him now, than me?"

_'I'll never leave you, Cora. I'll never let you down. I love you. I love you. Let me be yours forever.'_

"No. I wouldn't change you, not for the world."

He leans down and kisses her, taking her face in his hand. A soft, sweet kiss, not unlike the kisses of the man she first fell in love with.

* * *

**Thank you all so much for your lovely comments, they mean the world to me. I know this is short, but I hop you enjoyed it. **


	6. Lilac Skies

**Lilac Skies**

**Rating**: M

July, 1889 - _Cora is nineteen, Chester is twenty seven_

* * *

"I've never noticed before - your hair has tints of scarlet in it when you lie in the sun."

She smiles and turns onto her side, propping herself up on her elbow. They have been lounging on the beachside all afternoon, lunching on sandwiches, champagne, strawberries, and sponge cake; all the while exchanging life stories with their heads propped on their bags. Her clutch weighs next to nothing, only containing a handkerchief, her lip powder and a little container of water, infused with lavender and salt. The latter is a constant losing battle on Cora's part, trying to stop her mother arming her with it to throw in the face of some unsuspecting man. She is always trying to avoid taking it, but then she is faced with the usual: "But don't you want to defend yourself?" This always makes her bristle and snatch the capsule from her mother's hand.

"Do you know, my hair was auburn when I was a little girl?"

"I'm not surprised. Look how beautiful it is now." He leans across, touching a curl that has sprung free from the simple knot at the base of her neck. They catch each other's eyes and there is a very pregnant pause. Her throat tightens and she parts her lips to speak, but finds they are dry and parched, and she licks them, nervously. He is looking at her very intently now, and before she knows it he is kissing her, softly and sweetly, pushing her gently back onto the sand. She gasps and pushes him back with her hips, trying to keep him at bay.

"What is it, my darling?"

"I'm scared."

"Don't be. Oh don't be. It may hurt but what I want more than anything is to experience this with you while we have the chance. But I'll will only do so if you agree." Chester gazes at her questioningly, and she nods, smiling. He reciprocates, and leans down, kissing her neck. She sighs with contentment, relaxing underneath him. He takes her face in his right palm and turning it slowly, he makes a trail of kisses down her face and onto her neck, trailing down her shoulders, onto her chest. She reaches up to undo her dress but he pushes her hand away kindly. "Let me." He slips back the dress expertly and returns to his kissing, his lips now lingering on her breasts, sucking the soft skin. She moans, an unnatural, keening noise from the back of her throat. As he swirls his tongue around her nipple, she does it again and he realises it is her enjoyment of the act; increasing his drive. He undoes the rest of her dress, and leans back, taking in her beauty. Cora is wearing long bloomers but the material is soft and see through, revealing the darkness of the hair down there. He reaches up and gently hooks two fingers around her bloomers, pulling them down, ridding her of her dress. She kicks off her shoes and he removes her stockings, until she is completely naked. He leans down and kisses her stomach. A cry escapes from her lips; her tender spot touched, and she reaches up, tangling her fingers in his hair. His mouth works its way down, further and further, until his tongue is lingering on the core of her womanhood. She starts to tremble, her grip tightening. She feels him push deeper, touching her most arousing, sensitive spot and she screams softly, feeling herself opening up and growing wet under his tantalising touch. He moves back to lie facing her, moved at her innocence and enjoyment of the act. She feels him hard against her and she moans, without barely opening her mouth: "Take your clothes off."

He obliges, slowly, and she props herself up, watching. As he removes his underwear, she feels terrified, but yet fascinated at the revealing of his manhood, a confirmation of being an adult. He glances down at her, tilting his head on one side. She looks petrified yet ready, a strange yet comforting combination. He lies down, spreading her legs. "Lift your legs a little higher and a bit further apart. That's perfect."

Then he slides inside her and she cries out, for it is pain beyond pain. But as he starts to move, she realises how much she has wanted him, for so long. Cora has never felt more alive, more loved and; despite not being a vain person; more beautiful than she does now.

Utter bliss encompasses her.

And they drift, bobbing on a sea of utter contentment.

* * *

**Please review and let me know how this is. It's my first M fic, and I'm very nervous! **


	7. A Poppy Buried

**A Poppy Buried**

**Rating**: K+

* * *

May 1890 - _Cora is almost twenty, Chester is twenty eight _

The sky is dark, foreboding, casting a gloom over the fateful day. She glances over her shoulder at the shrouded facade that loomed powerfully over her childhood years. Tears fill her eyes and she has to bite her lip to stop them falling.

"Come, Cora. Parker is waiting."

A drop slides down her cheek and she walks unwillingly, unsteadily towards the motor. Climbing inside, she seats herself by the far window, facing the driver. Her brother sits sulkily across from her, arms folded. Age is little consequence to the Levinsons; the family mantra seemingly rubbed off on the youngest. At fourteen, he couldn't be more middle aged if he tried: the majority of his time spent ordering around his sister (despite being six years her junior) and spending too much time at the local boys club. His mother has given up attempting to control him so her attention, much to Cora's chagrin, is fully focused on her daughter. Currently, he has been ordered - for the first time in months - to control his hysterics. The journey to England is now fully funded for and indefinite. As a result, he has to depart without bidding his friends - also much reminiscent of forty year olds - farewell. This factor casts a dark atmosphere over the carriage, to say the least. Cora is not much different. She wishes, as the motor winds through the bustling streets, that she could have said goodbye. That she could have kissed him, shown him her gratitude for making her life so blissful and innocently ignorant of the harshness of reality. That she could have -

"Wait! Stop the motor!"

"Cora, what on earth are you doing? Sit _down_!"

"It's Chester! Please, Parker, I'm begging you - stop the motor."

Obligingly the car shudders to a halt at the kerb and she almost falls through the door. He walks in the direction of her house, his hat tipped at an angle to stop the sleeting rain falling in his eyes.

"Chester!"

She dashes across the road, irrespective of the beeping horns and swerving cars. He turns, surprised and worried, as she comes to a halt in front of him. She reaches out and clasps his coat sleeve. "Chester."

"Cora!"

They turn, startled. Her mother stands by the opened door, waving her back furiously. As Cora turns back to her lover and best friend, Martha sees the tears glinting in her daughter's eyes and she has to choke back the lump constricting her own throat. _Of course, _she thinks_. She has to say goodbye. I owe her that. _

"Chester."

"Where are you all going?"

"Oh, Chester. We're going to England."

His face, like the dark sky, clouds over, his own eyes filling. "Oh God, Cora."

"I'm so sorry."

"I thought you weren't going."

"Mama has other ideas."

"Marry me, Cora."

Her eyes widen and her knees buckle beneath her. He reaches out, clasping her face gently in his soft hands. He's dropped his gloves, discarded carelessly on the ground.

"Marry you?"

"Yes. Don't go, Cora. Marry me and you'll never need be forced into anything. Marry me and I'll love you more than you can ever know. Marry me and be happy."

She is gasping, the tears coursing down her cheeks now. "Oh Chester. I wish that could be. But I'm to marry an English lord."

"What! You're engaged?" The water edging ever closer his lashes breaks free, rushing in a salty stream down his handsome face.

"No, but it would seem my money shall satisfy an Englishman."

" I don't understand."

"Neither do I. Oh, neither do I!"

They collide, their lips meet desperately, their hands pulling every atom of one another together. Their salty tears mingle and their bodies tangle, almost felling both of them to the ground. He brushes his thumb over her soft, plump lips and she pushes her head against his hand, catlike.

"Oh Cora."

"I'll miss you. Every moment of every day."

"So will I. Oh God Cora, I don't know what I'll do without you!"

They kiss again, tenderly this time. Suddenly a car horn echoes across the street and they jump apart. Her mother is by her side. Her eyes are soft and misty as she gently takes her daughter's hand. "Time to go, Cora. Time to go. I'm so sorry, Mr Beaumont. I really am. Goodbye."

He watches dully, his tears no longer distinguishable from the rain, as his reason for living is driven away, her face pressed to the back window. He whispers to himself, the words choked by his overwhelming grief.

"Goodbye, Cora. Goodbye, my love. Goodbye, goodbye."

* * *

**Thank you so much to everyone who has followed, reviewed,and favourited. You have all made it so worthwhile writing. This is the last installment of The Floral Series, but I may write more about Chester some time. Meanwhile, however, look out for my new multi-fic about Cora and Robert at a young age...but I won't reveal anymore, lest I spoil the surprise! I hope you enjoyed this. Review, favourite, follow. Xx**


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